“Make me.”
Andres's eyes flick up, dark and warm, and my stomach flips even though we’re surrounded by baby-proofing supplies and a stack of tiny onesies Isla folded with terrifying precision. He steps closer, just enough to crowd me into the counter.
“Don’t start with me,” he murmurs.
“I’m not,” I whisper back, face heating.
Andres leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth, quick and teasing. “Good, because I would hate for our friends to come back to me wrecking that pretty little ass of yours over their island.”
I roll my eyes, but my body melts anyway because apparently I’m weak to absolute filth in domestic settings. The front door unlocks and swings open before Andres can say something that gets us kicked out. Gael walks in first, arms full of foil trays like he’s delivering offerings to a god.
Adriana follows behind him with bags and containers stacked in her arms, face flushed from the cold, eyes bright. The smell hits immediately, warm and rich, like home and comfort.
“We brought food,” Adriana says.
Andres's face shifts into pure relief. “Thank God.”
Adriana laughs. “This is all allergy-free for Isla and Kai,” she says, already moving toward the kitchen.
Gael sets the trays down and points at me. “And I made special lower-carb stuff for you, Jack. Protein-heavy. Easy to dose for—no surprise spikes.”
My throat tightens a little. It shouldn’t, because it’s just food.
But it’s also love, in the language my body understands.
“Thanks,” I mutter, my voice rougher than I mean it.
Gael shrugs like it’s nothing. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t cry about it.”
I flip him off. “Shut up.”
Andres's hand finds my lower back, warm and grounding.
“Eat when it’s time,” he murmurs.
I sigh. “Yes, sir.”
Andres's mouth twitches.
Adriana shakes her head at us, amused. “You two are disgusting.”
“We’re married,” I remind her. “We’re allowed to be.”
“That makes it worse,” she replies.
Gael laughs, kissing Adriana’s forehead before he starts unloading containers like he’s preparing for a holiday feast. There’s a tray of grilled chicken with citrus and herbs. A bowl of roasted vegetables. Something that smells like caldo but lighter. A container labeled in Gael’s handwriting: JACK LOW-CARB.
I stare at it like it’s a sacred artifact.
Andres sees the label and looks at Gael like he could cry too.
“Gracias,”Andres says quietly.
Gael nods once, serious for a split second.“Siempre.”
My chest aches. The apartment feels warmer now. Full. Like we’re building something bigger than ourselves in this borrowed space.
Andres glances at the clock. “They’ll be here soon,” he says, voice tight.
